


Secret Confessions

by CuriousBones



Category: Supernatural (TV)
Genre: F/M, Protective Dean Winchester, Secret Love Confessions, hurt reader, reader gets hurt on a hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-07-18 07:29:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7305298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuriousBones/pseuds/CuriousBones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You get hurt on a hunt, and Dean patches you up back at the motel. When you fall asleep after, Dean secretly admits his feelings to you, and that one day, he'll tell you for real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"It's way too quiet," you whispered as you and the brother hunters tiptoed as best you could in the snow; with every cautious step, however, your shoes still managed to pull a small crunch from the wet snow. With your guns at the ready, you continued your trek until you reached the heart of the thick woods the werewolves had run into after you pursued them from the last victim's barn. You burrowed your chin into your scarf, feeling the humidity from your breath causing it to become wet. You sighed. You hated that part of winter. 

"Okay," Dean stopped you and Sam. "Clearly, we're not finding any of the sons of bitches by sticking together. We need to split up." You couldn't help but notice how much his freckles popped from his flushed, winter-kissed cheeks. The rosiness from his nose and cheeks also seemed to highlight his eyes, making them an even brighter shade of hypnotizing green. You blushed slightly, but hoped you could just pass it off as rosy cheeks from the cold. You would die if the man you loved knew of your feelings for him. 

You snapped out of it and nodded, looking to Sam, who mimicked your action. 

Sam cleared his throat. "Okay, so, uh, Y/N, you go in that direction," he pointed behind you. "Dean, you'll go in that direction," he pointed to the right of Dean. "And I'll go there," he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, pointing behind him with it. "Okay?" You and Dean nodded. "If anyone's in trouble," Sam looked between you and Dean. "Yell." 

You nodded, and the three of you broke apart into your assigned directions. You breathed out in short breaths, watching the puffs of warm air that rose from your mouth in the bitter cold. You looked around, trying to spot a shadow or any movement among the branches surrounding you. 

Suddenly, you heard a branch snap from behind you, and you whipped around, aiming to shoot. You barely had time to react as a large, dark and strong figure slammed into you, knocking the wind out of you. You fell hard into the cold, wet snow, pinned down by one of the two werewolves you and the brothers had been hunting. The gun flew from your hand at the impact, and you wrestled with the werewolf to get out from under it. It snarled and snapped its strong jaw at you viciously, spraying you with saliva and blood. You struggled to keep its teeth from your face, but didn't pay attention to its claws. A piercing pain shot through your lower right leg as the werewolf's sharp claws ripped through your jeans and skin, and you let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the trees. You dug your thumb into the werewolf's eye, causing it to let out a shrieking snarl, and it brought its claw back again, shredding your jacket and sweater sleeves. Thankfully, you were wearing three layers of clothes, so the cut wasn't quite as deep as the gash on your leg, but it still hurt. You yelled at the pain, feeling as though this would be the end for you. 

Suddenly, you remembered that you had put a silver knife in your left boot. You struggled to keep the werewolf's fangs and claws at bay as you quickly reached down and pulled out the knife, wasting no time to shove it into the werewolf's throat. Almost two seconds after you stabbed the monster, six loud gunshots rang through the trees, and the werewolf completely slumped over, stiff and bloody, over your weak body. You laid your head back as the exhaustion an blood loss finally hit you and the adrenaline faded away. You felt the suffocating weight of the werewolf lifted from your small frame, and felt rough, cold hands flutter all over your wounds and face before scooping you up under your knees and your neck. Your eyelids felt irresistibly heavy, and you felt no strength to keep them open any longer. 

***

You woke up in the backseat of the Impala, your head resting in someone's lap. Your eyes fluttered open, and your E/C eyes met Dean's green ones immediately. His rough, callused hand was running through your hair soothingly, and he looked at you with urgency and concern. You tried to sit up, but his other hand kept you down. "No, Y/N. You need to stay down, alright? Now, we're taking you back to the motel room and then we're gonna stitch you back up, alright? Are you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital, because if it's worse than it looks, stitching you up at the motel room won't be enough."

You shook your head. "No, I'm fin- aah!" A sharp pain shot through your leg. Dean held you tighter, fear and worry swirling in his bright eyes. You recovered from it quickly. "I'm fine, Dean. Just take me back to the motel and stitch me back together." Dean looked at you, unsure. 

"Are you sure?" He asked cautiously. 

"Yes, I'm positive. Now stop worrying."

"Y/N, you passed out back there, and those gashes are pretty nasty. I should be worried." Dean swallowed thickly. 

"Well, don't be. I'm fine; I just need a little stitching and I'll be back to my pain-in-the-ass usual self," you said as steadily as you could. The Impala lurched to a stop, and Dean scrambled out the door, turning back to help you out as quickly and gently as possible. He came to your left side and you flung your arm around his shoulder, putting your weight onto him. He wrapped a strong arm around your waist, and you blushed slightly. You tried to ignore it, and began limping with Dean's help to the room as Sam held the door open and you held in your right arm tenderly. 

Dean helped you to the couch where you plopped down with a groan of pain. Dean hastily pulled your jacket and sweater off, being mindful of your right arm. You hissed at the stinging, and Dean flinched before he ran out of the room, returning with a large First Aid kit. He pulled out a pair of scissors and began cutting away at your right pant leg from above your knee and down. He inspected your gash tenderly, and you attempted to take off your long sleeve shirt, to no avail. Dean noticed your struggle, and aided you in taking it the rest of the way off. You sat back in your black tank top, wiping a layer of sweat from your face as Dean pulled out some antiseptic and a bottle of whiskey. 

He looked at you, concern written in capital letters across his face. "It's too big and deep to apply the antiseptic with gauze. I'm going to have to pour it right on." You bit your lip, nodding. He unscrewed the cap, hovering it over your cut. "This is going to hurt." You put a hand on his shoulder, letting him know you were ready. "On the count of three?" Dean asked. 

"Just do it already, damnit!" You snapped. He tipped the bottle over, and the clear liquid spilled over your cut. A white-hot stinging spread through your leg like fire. "SONOFABITCH!" You yelled. "Shit! Shitting bitchsuck!" You dug your fingers into Dean's shoulder painfully hard, grimacing at the pain. Pained tears rolled down your cheeks, but you roughly wiped them before they could fall. Dean finished cleaning out the gash, flinching and wincing whenever you let out a sign that you were in pain, and you let out almost every colorful word in the dictionary and beyond. He began stitching, and you continued clutching his shoulder, holding it tighter with every stitch. The weird part was, he wasn't flinching because you were gripping his shoulder so hard. Every time you gasped, swore, hissed, or anything else, his face filled with his own pain and worry. 

Finally, your leg was finished, but your arm was not. By now you had finished three quarters of the whiskey, and prayed you could make it to the end on that last quarter. The cycle restarted once again with your arm; the drinking, the swearing, the flinching, and the clutching Dean's shoulder. It wasn't as bad as your leg, but the cut was still deep. 

Finally, you were all bandaged and stitched up. You laid your head back on Dean's shoulder and closed your eyes, the exhaustion taking over. "Thank you," you whispered to Dean softly. He gently put an arm around your shoulder, being careful of the injury lower down on your arm. You felt relaxation wash over you in the warmth of Dean's presence, and you slowly dozed off, dreaming peacefully in the arms of the man you secretly loved. 

You were just awake enough yet to feel warm, soft lips touch your forehead, lingering for a moment longer than a friendly kiss. 

Just before you were completely pulled into the separate world of unconsciousness and dreams, you heard a gruff, yet surprisingly gentle voice murmur, "I love you, Y/N. One day, I'll really tell you." 

~ The End ~


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next morning, Dean tells you to stay at the motel and rest while he goes to the sheriff's station to close the case. However, you being you, you follow him to the station, where you make an important discovery for the case.

You woke up the next morning with a dull ache coursing through your entire body. You groaned, closing your eyes again. You heard a clattering from the mini kitchen in the motel room and your eyes snapped open again, to see Dean puttering around, his back turned to you. He was humming Ramble On by Led Zeppelin, and by the clattering you heard, he was fixing breakfast. Strange, you thought, as you figured he'd have just gone out and bought some grub from the diner. 

He turned around and saw you awake, flashing a smile. "Rise and shine, (Y/N/N). Thought you'd never wake up." You looked at the clock. 

"It's only 8:30, jackass," you grumbled, dropping your head back to the pillow. 

"Which is like noon in Winchester time. C'mon, now, you know that."

"Oh, sorry, I guess my nearly dying last night kinda tired me out last night." You snapped, not noticing how Dean's jaw clenched and his mouth closed tightly at that. 

"Well, I made you breakfast. Freshly bought this morning from Ruth's Diner down the street." He smiled proudly, and you chuckled. 

"I knew it," you took the plate, trying to position yourself comfortably. Dean reached forward and helped you, putting a hand on your shoulder and another around your waist, cautiously helping you up. "Thanks," you muttered. Dean sat at the end of your bed, watching you eat in silence for a moment before he spoke. 

"So, what all do you remember from last night?"

"Meh, not much. Just the attack and conking out on your shoulder when we got back." As you spoke, you couldn't help but hear this rushed whispering over and over in your head. 'Someday I'll tell you. Someday I'll tell you. Someday I'll tell you.' "And, did you tell me something else last night after you finished stitching me up?"

Dean gulped thickly. "Uh, no- no I- I don't think so. Why?"

You shrugged. "I feel like someone told me something important last night, but I can't remember. Whatever, maybe I'll remember it later."

"Hm, yeah," Dean said absentmindedly, looking at the floor. He stood up. 

"Well, I'll leave you to recuperate; Sammy's on a run, and there's some loose ends that need to be tied with the case. Gonna swing by the sheriff's station then grab some grub for lunch. You stay here and rest up. There's some painkillers and water on the bedside table."

You sat up, ignoring the dull pain ringing through your body. "Nuh-uh. I'm coming with you." You stood up, wincing slightly as you subconsciously brought your hand to your right calf, and you felt a new throbbing pain in your ribs. Dean looked skeptically at you. 

"Hate to break it to you, princess, but you ain't going anywhere till you can stand on your own without wincing. You're going to rip your stitches, now stay in bed." You glared at him, and he shook his head before going to the bathroom to change into his fed outfit. As soon as the door closed you grabbed your own FBI outfit and changed as quickly as you could (which wasn't very fast, as it was increasingly more difficult to bend over and move too swiftly with your newfound rib pain, but it was still faster than Dean), then jumped into bed and pulled your covers up to your chin. 

Dean emerged, adjusting his tie and clearing his throat. He smiled when he saw you in bed. "See, nice to see you actually listened to me for once." You nodded, waving him goodbye and closing your eyes. When you heard the door open and close, you cracked an eye, and jumped out of bed, peering out the window. You were pleased to see Dean turning to grab a soda from the vending machine, and you silently snuck- or rather, limped- out and climbed into the back of the Impala, having expected to have to tail him in a cab if he had just left right away. 

Dean got in the car and started the engine, turning on the radio. You rolled your eyes as he sang along obnoxiously loud. Your arm, leg, and ribs were aching from your crunched position in the back under the seat, but you toughed it out until the Impala pulled to a stop in front of the sheriff's station. Dean leaned over into the passenger seat to grab his jacket and phone, turning the phone on and opening his text conversation with you. You read silently over his shoulder:

Dean: 'Just heading into the station. Remember to take those painkillers I left on the table. Stay in the bed, Y/N.'

You closed your eyes and let out a breath as he sent the text and your phone chimed in your pocket. Dean froze, turned around, and stared you square in the eye. 

"Y/N."

"Yes."

"I thought I told you to stay at the motel."

"Technically you told me to rest up. I got a pretty good rest on the way here. I'm good now." You moved to open the back door, but Dean quickly locked his door, which automatically locked all the doors in the car. You sighed. 

"In case you don't remember, I also told you that you weren't going anywhere until you could move without wincing."

"I'm not wincing! See?" You did a little dance in the back seat, being sure not to move any part of your body too much, mostly just shimmying your shoulders. Dean leaned over and prodded you in your arm, to which you responded by hissing and flinching, though you tried to restrain it. 

You sat up straight again and pushed your hair out of your face. "Dean, I'm fine!" He stared at you, jaw clenched. 

"Stay in the goddamned car, Y/N. I'm serious. If your shredded arm and leg aren't enough, you've probably got some bruised ribs from having the son of a bitch on top of you, and you can't even walk properly because of the slices you've got in your leg down to the bone! Stay. In. The. Car." He unlocked his door, got out, and locked the doors again before you could get out. You banged on the window. 

"This violates my human rights! I could die of heat in here, Dean!" You shouted. He stopped, turned around, rolling his eyes, and rolled down a window half an inch. 

"More air is coming from my grandmother's lungs than this window, god rest gammy's soul!" You shouted through the tiny window crack. Dean just kept walking into the station, and you sat back in your seat, huffing. You shoved your hands into your pockets, blowing a lock of hair out of your eyes. You looked around the car for something to use to get out of here, when your eyes fell on your rucksack from the previous night's hunt. It must have been left in the car after the attack. You quickly pulled it into your lap and started rooting through it, feeling a grin spread across your face when you found your knife. 

You delicately slid the blade between the door and the window, wiggling it until you saw the lock pop on the door. You put the blade back in your sack and opened the door, fixing your hair in the side mirror before gingerly walking to the front doors of the station, trying not to limp, and being careful not to move too quickly and rip your stitches. 

You hid behind a wall until you saw Dean follow a deputy into another room, probably to clear up on what all *happened* last night. 

"Hi." You flashed the secretary a toothy grin, taking put your badge. "Agent Rose, FBI. I've got some questions about the recent murders in your town?" The secretary looked at you, brows raised. 

"Oh, are you here with the other guy? They just went into the chief's office." She gestured over your left shoulder, and you cleared your throat. 

"Oh, uh, no, it's just me, but they probably assigned two guys to the same case again. Chief's gettin' kinda old. But thank you," you said, gesturing to the security office. 

"No problem, ma'am. Although I think the case is as good as closed. He said they found the murderer yesterday." 

"Yeah, well, you know how it is, as soon as you're outta the woods, you're stuck in another neck of them. It ain't over till it's over, right?" You smiled charmingly. 

"Yeah, I guess so. You're welcome to head into the chief's office and meet with them as well." She gestured to the room behind you. 

"Thanks," you nodded at her. She smacked her gum and smiled routinely before turning back to her computer. You began to turn, but stopped momentarily. "Oh, uh, do you have a washroom? Lady problems, am I right?" You put your tongue in your cheek as you smiled awkwardly. The woman gestured down the hall to your right. 

"It's just down the hall, first door on your right. And, uh, feminine hygiene products are in the dispenser on the wall by the sinks," she smiled politely. You nodded your head and headed down the hallway. However, your eye caught a door at the end of the hall which said RECORD ROOM, and, well, you couldn't resist. You looked around to check that no one was looking, then you snuck in. 

You knew that the case was as good as closed, but you couldn't help but feel a nagging feeling that there was something you'd missed. Filing through the old papers, you found a cabinet with some significant content. "Damn…" you muttered, stuffing a few files into your jacket. 

***

Dean piled into the car again, where you were already returned to the back seat, feigning an annoyed expression. "Hey sweetheart, have fun? Hope you get into anything too wild," he joked. You rolled your eyes, climbing out of the back seat and opening the door to the front seat, gingerly climbing in. You held your side, cradling your pained ribs, and keeping the files hidden inside your jacket. 

"Nothing crazy, no thanks to you," you snapped. He sighed, driving back to the motel. 

"I'm trying to keep you from gettin' hurt, Y/N. If you act recklessly, you won't be able to hunt, and we need the extra help."

"Wow, nice to know you care about my wellbeing and not just your own," you quipped. He sighed, running a hand over his face. 

"I didn't mean- I- ugh," he groaned in frustration. "Just quit fuckin' around when you're still hurt, Y/N! Alright?" You didn't know if you were still loopy from the drugs you took this morning, but it almost looked like there was a sort of desperation in Dean's eyes. You sighed, playing with the file under your jacket discreetly. 

"So what all went on at the station?" You changed the subject. 

Dean licked his lip quickly. "Well, I wanted to double check the footage to make sure there were no loose ends, but I found zilch. Closed the case, and just in time too, because the secretary said another FBI agent came in when I was with the chief. Got the hell outta dodge before I ran into the real feds."

"Huh, yeah." You cleared your throat awkwardly. "Well that's it. Case closed."

"Yep." Dean kept his eyes on the road. 

You waited a moment. "You sure? It doesn't seem like we missed something to you?" 

"Yes, Y/N, I'm sure. It's over." 

You closed your eyes and took a breath. "I think there's something you should look at." Dean looked sideways at you, and you took out the file you'd stolen from the records room. Dean stared at it, then at you, glancing back at the road. 

"Is that from the station?" 

"Yes." Dean flared his nostrils, pulling over to the side of the road. 

"Damn it, Y/N, I said to stay in the fucking car! You're hurt, and you're gonna stay that way unless you do what I tell you and stay in bed!"

"But Dean, I found something-" you tried, but Dean cut you off. 

"No, Y/N, the case is closed. Hunt's over, the son of a bitch is dead." He clenched his jaw as he began to reach for the gear switch to pull back onto the road. 

"Maybe it's not entirely over." Dean paused as you opened the file, showing a newspaper article with the headline: 'Man Goes Missing After Calling Animal Control About Wild Dog Outside His Home.' You read the first few lines to Dean. "Mark Ellis, 28, was reported missing 27 hours after calling Animal Control, saying he saw a wild dog lurking outside his home. When Animal Control came to take care of the dog, one of the workers said: 'we knocked on the door but no one answered. We went around back after a few minutes and saw his back screen door ripped to shreds. The house was a mess, and there were streaks of blood on the floor, with no sign of [Mr. Ellis] or the reported dog.' (Travis Rutherford, Animal Control). Dated January 11th, 2017." You looked at Dean. "This could a different guy than the werewolf we hunted last night, Dean. And this article was released a month before our guys. I think we missed the wolf who turned them."

Dean clenched his jaw. "Fuck," he muttered. "Okay, we're going after this thing, if he's even still in town, but you are not going anywhere near this hunt. Capiche? I'm serious."

You saw red for a moment. You weren't allowed to come? Without you, you guys would be on the road already, leaving this town to the havoc of another werewolf! But, you held your tongue, because deep down, you knew Dean was right. You couldn't hunt in your condition, and to do so would be dangerous for the brothers. And you would never put the safety of others and the brothers at risk. Dean was right, but you weren't happy about it. You closed your eyes for a moment and uncurled your fists-which you hadn't even realized had been clenched. "Fine." 

*** 

"Alright, you got everything you need here, Y/N? Food, water, painkillers, First Aid, a phone-" 

"Yes, Dean, I've got everything."

"What about-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah! I'm good, now go!" You and the had spent the entire day in a research frenzy after your newfound discovery, trying to find out as much as possible in as little time as possible about Mark Ellis, your hopefully last werewolf of the case. As long as he hasn't turned anyone else. 

Dean and Sam looked around the room one last time, Dean with a hesitant look in his eyes. "Go, you guys. I'll be fine. But if one of you dies, I am going to kill you dead, alright?" Sam chuckled, but Dean stayed stony-faces. 

"Neither one of us is dying, Y/N, got it? We're leaving in one piece, and we're coming back the same way." The two of you stared at each other for a moment longer, his peridot green eyes telling a thousand stories within a thousandth of a second. Those words continued to repeat in your head in a frenzy: 'someday I'll tell you, someday I'll tell you, someday I'll tell you…'. 

"Just… be careful." You looked at Sam, then Dean, who nodded, then the two boys left. 

As the familiar loud rumble of the Impala faded into the deafening silence of the night, you sat back, stared at the wall, and sighed. 

Now, you wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you think. I kinda think this is a sweet idea, but idk how anyone else will like it. Let me know below!!


End file.
